He’s a gifted actor, but the character feels beneath him. Likewise, Abrams fumbles through the role. B ased on Krystal Sutherland’s high school-set novel, Chemical Hearts is a multi-layered study of teen grief marred by ethical ambiguity. She poured her soul into the work, but the script keeps Grace too far from the focal point for it to have much impact. And so does Reinhart, whose acting is lovely and clearly well constructed. He’s getting to know her as we are, which is always at a distance that keeps us from ever really knowing anything about her, besides how troubled she is-how scarred. The text never holds Henry accountable for this invasion of Grace’s privacy. He follows her, spying on her private moments: the grave she visits in her fits of guilt, the track where she attempts to regain strength in her leg. Henry’s quest to better know Grace comes with a hefty dose of creepy. Like so many teenage love stories, it makes its female protagonist an enigma for the male hero to unlock.
The latter is where the key problem with Chemical Hearts comes into play. This faraway quality is bewitching to Henry, who craves the peculiar energy she conjures–and who romanticizes her scars. And she is interested in the fleeting nature of life, given her recent brush with tragedy. She’s drawn into Henry’s orbit when they’re asked to co-edit the school newspaper. She walks with a cane due to a new disability she is still adjusting to.
She’s naturally beautiful, but offsets that beauty with giant clothes, a clear disregard for appearing in any specifically desirable way.